


How The Heart Behaves

by coloursflyaway



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, Post Golden Circle, With "done" I obviously mean kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-15 00:56:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11795091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coloursflyaway/pseuds/coloursflyaway
Summary: The world is saved, Eggsy is back home, but there are still a few more things to be said, confessed, and done.





	How The Heart Behaves

It’s when the wooden door starts reminding him of the colour of Harry’s eyes that Eggsy realises he needs to go and see his former mentor.  
His feet stop in the middle of the hallway, although Eggsy knows that there used to be a destination he wanted to reach; his eyes stay fixed on the grain of the dark brown wood, thin tendrils spanning it like a spider’s web, like someone’s hair splayed out on a pillow in the morning, soft and somehow fragile.

Back when there was still a world which needed to be saved, when everything was blood and violence and hope, it had been easy to just fall into a pattern again, to banter and joke and fight side by side, to forget everything that would come and just relish in the knowledge that Harry was alive and Eggsy had not lost him. And yet, as soon as their plane had touched down, he had frozen up, because without the fighting, the adrenaline, there was too much silence to fill. And suddenly, all the hours he had spent thinking about how he would apologise, if he only got the chance, all the things he wanted to tell Harry over the past year, had vanished from his mind, leaving behind a emptiness so complete it had caused him to freeze on the spot.

Perhaps Harry had sensed him tensing, because he had shot him a smile, a soft, gentle curl of lips, and it had been too much, or maybe not quite enough, because Eggsy had been up from his seat, running, the second Merlin had opened the doors of the plane. And perhaps, he considers as his eyes trace over the wood, down to the handle he knows he will have to press down at some point, he hasn’t really stopped running since.

Tilde is not waiting for him back at home, like he has gotten used to, although most parts of him still expect her to be there, blonde hair and a mischievous smile on her pretty lips. He had told her to leave, right after they returned, because even through the rush of the adrenaline slowly ebbing off, he could feel his heart sing a tune that had nothing to do with his princess and everything with Harry, and Tilde had looked at him with sad eyes, but had nodded anyway.  
And really, it never could have ended another way with them, he sees that now, even if that dream of theirs had kept him alive for longer than Eggsy would have expected. Because Tilde deserves a different man, a king, not a spy, willing to throw himself into any possible danger, and still hung up on a man, who isn’t dead anymore, but still unavailable.

He’ll miss her, Eggsy knows he will, but even so, it was the right decision, the only fair one.

Since every millisecond his heart beats faster now, because he knows that Harry is just behind this door, since every little daydream about the other man, every itch to touch in his fingertips, his palms, would have been a betrayal otherwise.

Eggsy swallows heavily, even while his throat is closing up; there are a thousand differences between Tilde and Harry, and one of them is that with Tilde, everything has always been easy, the two of them clicking easily, while nothing with Harry has ever been just that.  
They had gotten along almost immediately, conversation flowing easily, but at least from Eggsy’s side, there had been something more. Something that needed to be watched closely, lest it managed to somehow hide itself between carelessly spoken words, giving too much away. It had started as a kind of awe too intense to let the other know, but had, without Eggsy noticing, morphed into something else entirely, until he had looked at Harry one day, across the room, and had felt his heart beat faster than it had any right to, his skin tingling with the need to touch.  
It had blindsided him, the feeling similar to a punch to the chest, stopping his heart for a moment, just to let it beat again in a completely different way.

The feeling hadn’t ever gone away afterwards, the tension in his guts whenever Harry had looked at him, the rush of pride at the tiniest show of respect from the older man, the perpetual sense of missing something, someone. Only when Harry had died, it had changed, gone from bittersweet to torturous. And it had changed again the moment Eggsy had seen the other on screen, looking rumpled and softer than he remembered, his hair tousled and the padded cell behind him covered in drawings of butterflies. The painful part stayed, but there was hope now, hope for a new beginning.

And there is hope now too, mixed into every scared heartbeat, every panicked breath, as Eggsy wraps his fingers around the handle, feeling the coolness of the metal harshly against his skin. He has loved Tilde, he still does, and yet the word rings hollow when compared to the connection he feels with Harry, the depth of it, the strange magnetism the other seems to possess, making it impossible for Eggsy to look away from him for too long.  
Back when he was a child, Eggsy never would have considered that Harry Hart could make him happy, wouldn’t have featured him in any dream about his future, and yet, at twenty-six, anything but a life with Harry in it seems like a sad excuse for happiness.  
He doesn’t think he will ever have the kind of life he wants with the other _– lazy kisses traded at dusk in a shared bed, Harry’s fingers brushing absentmindedly through his hair when watching a movie, laughter and moans and silence ringing through their home_ – but Eggsy thinks he will be able to learn how to live with that. Not easily, not painlessly, but somehow after all.  
And it will have to be enough.

Maybe this is not the best idea, Eggsy thinks for a moment, just a fraction of a second, but it’s too late – his body makes the decision before he can think better of it, pushes down the handle. He has forgotten to knock, his brain tells him a little too late.

Harry is sitting behind his desk, the walls not red, but a light beige, not covered in newspapers, and yet the sight knocks the breath from Eggsy’s lungs. It feels like walking into a memory, just as painful as familiar.  
The only source of light is the small lamp on the desk, the glow of Harry’s computer, and in the dim light, he looks older than Eggsy is used to, the crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes more pronounced than ever. It changes very little, if anything at all.

A moment or two pass in silence, because there is nothing and everything to say; Eggsy breaks it by clearing his throat and stepping into the room, painfully aware that he might be intruding.  
“Hey, Harry”, he greets quietly, and hopes that the other hears him. He doesn’t know if he could speak any louder, if he tried to.  
“Hello Eggsy.” The answer comes a little later than it maybe should, but Eggsy cannot bring himself to mind, because he might be imagining it, but he thinks that he can hear a certain kind of affection in Harry’s voice, a pleased undertone mixing with it. “I didn’t expect you. Come on in.”

Eggsy takes another step inside, so he can close the door, but doesn’t quite dare to come closer yet, instead hangs around in the middle of the room awkwardly, hands clasping and unclasping in front of him. He must look as nervous as he feels, and the thought is close to unbearable.  
“What brings you here?”, Harry finally asks, probably because he realises that Eggsy doesn’t know what else to say. “I thought you would be home by now, I’ve heard you have to leave on a mission tomorrow. Sweden, isn’t it? Perhaps you could bring your girlfriend. I have heard many good things about her from Merlin, and having someone local with you might prove an asset…even if I have to admit that travelling with the princess might make secrecy a little difficult.”  
“She’s not my girlfriend.”

The words have made it past Eggsy’s lips before he can think about them, and for a moment, he panics: it’s not giving away too much, is it, breaking up with his girlfriend of almost a year only days after Harry has come back?

Harry’s expression changes for just a moment, too quick for Eggsy to read it, then the other straightens his back, gives Eggsy an apologetic smile. “Oh, I am sorry. I must have misunderstood something then.”  
“Oh no, ‘s not that”, he explains, finally stuffing his hands into his pockets. “She’s just not anymore. I broke up with her.”  
“I’m very sorry to hear that”, Harry says, and Eggsy wishes he wasn’t.  
“Thanks. But it’s okay, we wouldn’t’ve worked out anyway, her being a princess and all, and me being, well. Me.”  
“Nonsense”, Harry replies, his tone firm. “Anyone in their right mind would be happy to have you, my dear boy. No matter your social standing.”

He sounds impossibly sincere, in a way that Eggsy knows could take his breath away, if he believed it.  
“Sure, guv”, he answers, chuckles a little darkly. “But I’m not really prince material, even if you an’ Merlin did your best to change that. But anyway, how’re you feelin’? Must be strange, being back after a year.”  
“Strange…yes. In a very pleasant way, of course. I doubt I will ever miss being locked up like that. Or being shot in the head, for that matter.”

Eggsy shudders, cannot quite help it – those few seconds, before Valentine had shot Harry, had been the worst of his life, being played over and over in his dreams. Not even Tilde, warm and sleeping next to him, had been able to help. Only when he had seen Harry, alive and almost well, the nightmares had stopped.  
“No arguments from me here”, Eggsy mumbles, then nods towards one of the chairs in front of Harry’s desk; he doesn’t know what to talk about, knows he will have to get up in only a few hours, and yet cannot stand the thought of already parting with Harry. Again. “Mind if I sit down?”  
“Oh, no, not at all.”

Behind his desk, Harry watches him come closer with one, dark eye, the other obscured by his tinted glasses, and it’s Eggsy’s own mind, it must be, but his gaze feels more intense than Eggsy can remember, almost like a physical touch, a brand. It’s as comforting as it is disconcerting.

From up close, the light is a little kinder to Harry’s face, softening the lines around his mouth, the rings under his eyes. He’s beautiful, as beautiful as he was when Eggsy first saw him standing in front of Holborn police station, as beautiful as he was when Eggsy saw him again, not dead after all, but just waiting to be found.  
And Eggsy loves him to the point where he’d gladly accept never touching, never kissing Harry, as long as he gets to stay near him.

“So, how was it anyway, back there?”, Eggsy asks, because it’s the only thing he can think of. “During that year, I mean. Before we found you.”  
What passes Harry’s face is hardly even a reaction, over so quickly that Eggsy knows he would never have picked up on it without his training, but Harry blinks, lips pressing together, like he is holding back words, then he says, “I’d rather not talk about that, if it’s all the same to you.”  
“Uh, sure.” A year ago, Eggsy would have filled the silence which follows with stories about his training, chatter about Daisy, but now, the only thing he can think to say is, “What would you like to talk about?”

Harry is still looking at him, like he has forgotten how to look away, and Eggsy imagines being able to feel each blood vessel expanding beneath his skin, allowing more and more blood to rush through, warming up his cheeks.  
And it gets worse, oh God, does it get worse, because Harry doesn’t take his eye off him, and utters a single word. “You.”

Eggsy splutters, all those little vessels opening up even further, his heart picking up its pace.  
“What do you mean, me? There ain’t much to talk about, Harry, I’m still borin’ old me, just now in a suit-”  
“There was never anything boring about you”, Harry interrupts him, sounding stern for the first time this evening, before his voice softens again. “We didn’t get much time, Eggsy, to get to know each other. Or at least not as much time as I would have liked to have.”  
He sighs, rubs a hand across his face and leaving smudges on his glasses, fingertips mussing up perfectly styled hair. “Almost dying puts certain things into perspective. I do not have many regrets in my life, but one of them is never spending enough time with you. Which is why, if you hadn’t come to see me today, I would have visited you sooner or later. This second chance, I want to use it to fix what mistakes I’ve made. And perhaps I should start with an apology.”

Blood is pounding in Eggsy’s ears, making it hard to concentrate; when in captivity, Harry had thought about him, more than once, and not only about his misgivings, but about the good times, the teasing and the teaching and the trust. It’s almost too much to take in, almost blurs out the rest of the other man’s words.  
“An apology?”, Eggsy asks, knowing that he must sound as dazed as he feels, as confused. “What for?”  
“The fight we had, of course”, Harry responds, his voice gentle, if pained; he puts one of his hands on top of the desk, and it’s all Eggsy can do not to take it. “I said so many things you didn’t deserve to hear, that couldn’t have been further from the truth. I hope, dear boy, that you didn’t take them to heart.”  
“I- I did”, Eggsy admits, although the words seem to burn his tongue; he looks down onto the desk, because he can’t meet Harry’s gaze right now. “But that’s okay. As long as you didn’t mean them.”  
“Never.”

Harry smiles again, and this time, it’s a smile Eggsy is familiar with, even after the year that has passed. It’s undeniably fond, a little bit surprised; it makes Eggsy’s heart sing, every fibre of his being aching in the most pleasant way.  
By the time Eggsy looks up again, catches Harry’s eye, the atmosphere has changed between, the tension almost completely dissipated, leaving behind the sweet warmth of their reunion.  
It makes it easier to force the next few words past his lips.  
“I missed you, you know?”  
The confession seems to surprise Harry, whose eye widens, his lips parting without letting out a sound. Why, Eggsy couldn’t say, because he doesn’t think any possible universe could exist, in which he wouldn’t miss Harry Hart.  
“I missed you too, Eggsy.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence, Harry’s hand still so close that all Eggsy would have to do is reach out and wrap his fingers around the other man’s, and there are a hundred reasons why it is a horrible idea to do so, and yet, his skin itches with longing, tingles with hope.  
He balls his treacherous fingers into a fist, considers, just for a moment, to stuff it back into his pockets, just for good measure, when Harry clears his throat, then starts to speak. For the first time this evening, he isn’t looking at Eggsy.

“There is yet another thing which almost dying teaches you”, Harry says and looks up again, pronouncing every word carefully, like he is afraid they will mutate between his thoughts and tongue. “It’s that there is no potential pain that justifies not trying, when there is something you really want. So, Eggsy, although I know that the chances of you saying _yes_ are miniscule, and although that is most likely to the best – _your_ best – would you let me take you out for dinner?”

Around Eggsy, the world continues to rotate, time trickling by, Harry’s heart beating, but he doesn’t notice any of it, because his entire mind, his being is wrapped around those few words, their implication. It seems impossible, even after Harry has said them, no gun to his head, no mind-altering drug in his system, just Harry and him, and those breath-taking, beautiful, impossible words.

On the desk, Harry’s fingers twitch, the spark in his eye slowly dimming, and yet it’s only when the other man looks away, resignation painted across his features in bold strokes, that Eggsy can shake off his stupor.  
“I see. It is no matter-”, Harry starts, before Eggsy’s tongue has started working again, his tone soft and broken, and Eggsy’s mind is wordless, mute, but his muscles remember how to move, so he gives his answer before he can watch Harry crumble in front of him for a second longer.  
His fingers fan out from the tight fist, and there is not even enough time for Harry to finish his sentence, before Eggsy reaches out and curls them around the other’s tie, pulling it free from the confines of his suit, and pulling Harry along with it.

It’s harsh, an action based purely on instinct, and the kiss that follows is the same, Eggsy rising from his seat so he can meet Harry halfway, their lips colliding with more force than he intended, but Eggsy wouldn’t mind bruises, wouldn’t mind blood and cuts and broken bones, as long as they mean he gets to keep this breath-taking, beautiful, impossible man.  
Harry doesn’t react right away, so Eggsy takes the lead for once, pushes his second hand into Harry’s hair, slides his lips against the other’s, gives as much as he can rip from his heart in such a short time.

The edge of Harry’s desk is digging into his hip, and Eggsy forgets about it completely as he loses himself in the kiss, in the other. And slowly, ever so slowly, Harry starts to move, a twitch of muscles that pushes them closer together, a soft gasp against Eggsy’s mouth, lips parting to let him in. Harry tastes like tea and whiskey, and with every swipe of his tongue, the brush of calloused fingertips against Eggsy’s jaw, the kiss loses its violence, if not its heat.

It’s that which stays with Eggsy when they part, both breathing hard and Harry’s lips still glistening with Eggsy’s kiss, his hand cupping Eggsy’s cheek. Heat making his cheeks burn, travelling down to his chest and then everywhere, from his toes to the tips of his fingers, infusing every single cell with warmth and affection that is not only appreciated, but reciprocated.  
Still feeling feverish, Eggsy traces his fingers from Harry’s scalp down to the corner of his mouth, across the cupid’s bow of his lips. Behind Harry’s skin, he can feel the same heat pulsating.

“That’s a yes, by the way”, he mutters, knows that Harry will feel the breath that carries his words as much as he will hear them; the thought makes him shiver. “Just in case you couldn’t tell.”  
Harry chuckles, surprised and happy, almost carefree, and Eggsy knows he would gladly sacrifice ten years of his life to make sure he will hear that sound again.  
“I’m glad to hear that”, he answers, and Eggsy can feel the words in return. Harry brushes another kiss against his mouth, softer and sweeter than the last one, and Eggsy cannot help but smile. “Not that I think I would have mistaken that answer.”  
“Well, better safe than sorry, right?”  
“Absolutely.”

Slowly, Eggsy pulls back, his fingers still around Harry’s tie, silk whispering against his skin as Harry straightens, finally falling back against the other’s chest.  
“So, about that dinner…”, Eggsy starts, and stops for a moment, because his heart does a somersault; they’ll have dinner, a proper date, like a couple. “Did you mean tonight, or did you want to do the whole shebang? I mean, picking me up from home and making awkward small-talk with my mum?”  
He’s grinning, cannot stop and doesn’t want to, especially not when Harry smiles back just as brightly, reaches out across the desk to grasp Eggsy’s hand in his. Their fingers intertwine, not slotting together perfectly, but good enough for a first try.  
“I didn’t think that far”, Harry confesses, gaze dropping to their joined hands for a moment before he looks up again. “So how about both?”

There is nothing but happiness written across Harry’s face now, his thumb brushing gently across Eggsy’s bruised knuckles, and although they have just kissed, Eggsy leans up and presses their lips together once more, just savouring the feeling.  
He pulls back with the smallest of nips to Harry’s bottom lip, just enough so he can whisper out the answer Harry surely has known he will give all along.  
“It’s a date.”

**Author's Note:**

> In case you want to say hi, send me a prompt, or tell me something nice, you can find me on Tumblr here:  
> [X](http://www.coloursflyaway.tumblr.com)


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